


The Dance

by LadySokolov



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Mild Painplay, Other, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: John, a private moment alone with his hand, and the memory of a dance.





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little scene that I couldn't get out of my head. It's a little darker than the Telltale Batjokes stuff I've written before now, and definitely explores John's darker side, so please take note of the tags.

John Doe’s hand danced over the front of his pants, fingertips pressing at his cock through the fabric.

With everything that had happened lately; with Harley, and Bruce and oh god, with _Batman_ , he had found himself getting more than a little worked up, and he finally had a moment to himself; a moment during which he could just lie back and tug at his cock and imagine that his hand belonged to someone else.

Usually when John did this it was Harley that he imagined, although lately there had been a few times when he hadn’t been able to get the thought of Bruce out of his head. As he freed his already half-hard cock from the confines of his underwear he found his mind lingering on what mental image he should use as stimulation this time.

His first and strongest thought was of the dance that he had witnessed at the Riddler’s old hideout, between Bruce Wayne and Catwoman. The flurry of flying limbs and carefully timed punches, of bodies pressed against one another; it had been such a beautiful mixture of intimacy and violence. So perfect. So entrancing.

His heart started pounding harder in his chest at the mere memory of the fight, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to think of anything else.

He tried to imagine himself engaging Harley in such a dance, but he gave up on that particular fantasy after spending only a few seconds with it. He couldn’t imagine ever fighting with Harley like that, and no matter how hard he tried it just felt wrong. He had a little more luck imagining himself in Catwoman’s place, facing off against Bruce (just in play of course) but there was something about the fantasy that still didn’t feel right.

He closed his eyes again, let his hand move lazily up and down his cock and just let whatever images his brain could come up with bubble to the forefront. All he could think about was broad shoulders and a black cape, glowing white eyes and a deep, gravelly voice, and oh boy, did that do the trick.

Batman had also made plenty of appearances in John’s fantasies, ever since that day at the asylum when John had watched him work. He had always seemed so unobtainable though; so distant and perfect, at least until the last couple of days, but now Batman had actually talked to him, and he and John had worked together, and there had been that amazing moment in the alleyway when Batman had taught him how to throw one of his bat-shaped boomerang things, and god, the more that John thought about it, the more that Batman seemed absolutely perfect for this fantasy.

They would be training together. No, that wasn’t quite right. John would be stealing something, or helping Harley to steal something, or well, doing _something_ wrong; exactly what didn’t matter; and Batman would swoop in and try to stop him, and they would dance, just as Bruce and Catwoman had danced, arms and legs and chests clashing in a breathtaking symphony of lust and violence.

And Batman would grab John by his collar and shove him up against a nearby wall, forcing his mouth onto John’s and oh god, John would let him. He would let Batman do whatever he wanted, but the dance would demand that he struggle, wouldn’t it? He would struggle just enough. Just enough that Batman would have to pin him in place, hold him down so that John couldn’t move at all as Batman’s mouth ravaged his own.

Oh god. This was working so well now. John was so hard. He knew that he wasn’t going to last long if he kept thinking like this.

He moved one hand up to press against his neck, imagining that it was Batman’s hand, while the other sped up its pace on his cock. It was so good. Batman would be so good, and John would be so good for him. Batman would bite, and John would bite back, and then Batman would take him, pinned up against the nearest wall, the both of them bruised and bloodied.

John whimpered. He was so close now. So close.

He glanced around the small room, his eyes landing on the batarang that Batman had given him. He reached out with the hand that he had wrapped around his own throat to grab the practically sacred object, pausing the tugging at his own cock to bring the batarang up to his lips with both hands and kiss it almost reverentially.

He liked to think that there was still some trace of Batman on the piece of metal, his smell and his touch lingering in a way that might transfer over to John’s small room, and imagined that there was a taste to the batarang that was more than just metal and oil; some small taste that was distinctly _Batman._ He breathed it in, filling himself with Batman, with the thought of him, imagined the other man consuming him and overtaking him and oh god, it was so good.

One hand returned to his erection, while the other pressed the batarang to his face. It only took a few more pulls and then he was gone, falling into imaginings of a dark cape that wrapped around him and strong arms that pulled him close.

He came harder than he had ever come before, with the batarang pressed against his lips and the thought of Batman’s glowing white eyes staring down into his soul. He cried out as he did, loud enough that he was afraid the whole pact must have been able to hear him, and then collapsed back on top of his bedroll, absolutely spent.

It was only afterwards, when he was laying there, imagining Batman’s arms wrapping around him and holding him close, that he realized he had cut his upper lip with the batarang. It wasn’t too bad; just a little nick that would heal by itself in a day or two.

Still, as John brought his finger back from the small cut and saw the small smudge of blood on it, he found himself giggling.

Whatever would the Batman think if he knew how John had used his gift? Oh, he probably wouldn’t be happy at all.

John carefully tucked the batarang back in his pocket where it belonged, and tucked away the thought of Batman berating him for misusing it along with it. He could use that particular fantasy next time.


End file.
